Contradiction
by Princess Kitty1
Summary: Ulquiorra's P.O.V. -  He spent so much time questioning her actions that he almost forgot to question his own.


**A/N: **This is an experiment. I wanted to try my hand at Ulquiorra's point of view, and this idea had been nagging me for a while as I wondered what possibly went on in his head. Of course, Kubo-sensei is the only one who knows that for sure, but we can all speculate.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Bleach, its characters (especially the brilliance known as Ulquiorra), or the song "Time is Running Out" by Muse.

**Contradiction**

**By: Princess Kitty1**

"_I think I'm drowning."_

I will be the first to tell you that there is no meaning in this world. There isn't. I get the feeling that I have, in some forgotten past, personally looked for such a thing and found none, and a man with an argument cannot sway a man with experience. There is nothing worth living for. There is no reason to get excited. In the end, we are all trash. Dust destined to return to dust, animated for no clear purpose, wandering a meaningless world in the hopes of finding a meaning that does not exist.

"_Santen kesshun."_

This woman, for example, standing before me with such a severe expression. If she were to glare so defiantly at any other hollow, to show such a face for the sake of protecting her worthless values, she would be devoured. I will have to educate her, if only because her power may prove useful to Aizen-sama, and as a faithful servant she should be more mature about these things.

We will depart for now. This mission will require more delicacy than I initially thought.

…

"_You're something beautiful; a contradiction."_

The woman is not trash, but this elevated status is merely a situational thing. She is not trash because Aizen-sama agrees that she is not trash. Another would be proud of their intuitiveness. I have no use for pride.

She stares frequently at the moon, spellbound. She sees past it all, or attempts to, as if clairvoyant. What sort of thoughts parade through the mind of this temporarily fortunate woman? What sort of value has she placed on the things of this meaningless world? Not that it matters.

I have surprised her with my appearance, apparently. What is with that reaction? Where is the defiant glare now? How absurd.

I inform her that her friends have entered Hueco Mundo with the inane idea that they will be able to rescue her. This shocks her. Did she not expect it? Perhaps she isn't quite so clairvoyant after all. I am beginning to doubt the presence of anythoughts inside of her skull.

This rescue attempt, I tell her, is purposeless. She is one of us. She _knows_ that she is one of us. I remind her that her mind and body exist for Aizen-sama and his will. She… unflinchingly agrees.

How odd. The strength has come back to her, it would seem. She wavered only slightly, but my questions did not throw her. Not in the least.

There might be something going on inside of that skull after all.

Outside, Number Five asks me how the woman's training is progressing, only he puts it into more suggestive terms. What a disgusting creature. He is trash like the rest of them, and I make sure that he knows this. My words predictably agitate him.

What does it matter, how the woman's so-called 'training' is going? She was ours from the start. What little strength flickered momentarily within her eyes meant nothing. If she did not have the will to resist walking into Hueco Mundo behind me, then she would not have the will to turn her back on us.

She is trash, like everything else. Her only worth comes from Aizen-sama.

…

Most humans have this concept of 'heaven,' a paradise where their souls will find rest after a weary life. It gives them hope. They cannot see it, but they believe that it is there. Fools.

I do not believe in what my eyes cannot see. Like this 'heart' of theirs. It is an organ which circulates blood throughout their bodies, and yet, in their literature, the humans insist that this heart can _see_, that it can _remember_, that it can tell them what to do. With what eyes, with what mind, with what tongue, does the heart accomplish these tasks? According to Number Eight's medical diagrams, the heart lacks all three. It is one muscle, one instrument, and its only task is to keep its master alive, not unlike myself.

I see neither the eyes, nor mind, nor mouth of this 'heart'. Therefore, they do not exist.

…

"_You will be the death of me._"

One of the woman's friends has fallen in battle. I decide that now will be a good time to bring her food.

I announce myself this time, to avoid another irritating outburst. She is staring at the moon again. What does she mean by this constant vigilance? Does she intend to nourish her hope by basking in its light? And what is with this look that she gives me upon my entering the room? I am not personally responsible for the death of her comrade.

She tells me that he is not dead. I grow tired of her insistent denial and look away. She must be in shock, as she finds it necessary to repeat herself. I ignore her, tell her to eat. She claims that she doesn't need the food.

What is this woman trying to do? Is she attempting to prove some sort of point? Does her refusal to eat stem from her efforts to not become submissive to Aizen-sama, to accept that he is the king in her life, provider of her health and nourishment? Clearly, the issue of this fallen comrade of hers is wearing on her mind.

Of course. She repeats once more that he is not dead. Is she expecting me to break down and agree with her? A hug, perhaps? Ridiculous. I am not here to comfort her.

She looks away. A mentally unfit soldier will not aid Aizen-sama in any way, so I make an attempt to end her denial. Whether her friend is dead or isn't dead does not matter, I tell her. They will all die eventually. What was wrong with one of them jumping the gun?

This honestly shouldn't have been a surprise. Her allies are weak, and stupid if they think that they can come in here and rescue her with the utmost ease. Can't she see that putting her faith in them will not change the outcome of this war? She is setting herself up for disappointment. A woman with the mental strength to keep defying a man who could have ended her life in seconds should have realized that –

…

She struck me.

…

It didn't hurt. There is not enough force in the woman's body to hurt me. And a slap in the face – what would that do against my hierro? It is not sharp enough to pierce like a blade, nor blunt enough to bruise like a fist.

But there is something in the way that she looks at me that mysteriously causes it to sting.

…

I do not understand why she chooses to reject my logic. Then again, rejection is the nature of her power, so it must come easily to her. Perhaps it is this rejection that is keeping her stubborn friends alive, though the sources of her power remain inert in her hair. Regardless, I see that attempting to reason with her, that civilized conversation will do nothing to sway her childish beliefs. I leave her to her meal with one final warning.

The moment that I am outside the door, a sound catches my attention. What is she doing now?

Ah, she appears to be crying.

I pause in the hallway momentarily to listen. What does she cry for? Is the stress of her current position finally getting to her? Well, she only has herself to blame for that. She cannot be crying because she hit me. I get the sense that she is not violent by nature, but that would be downright absurd. Why would lashing out against an 'enemy' make her cry?

Could it be that she truly _was_ expecting some sort of kindness from me? Because if that is the case, then she is grossly mistaken. My position as her caretaker does not entitle me to _care_, ironically enough.

Perhaps it is the 'heart' that causes her to act this way.

Very well then. This woman needs to learn that believing in such nonsense will get her nowhere, that putting her faith into _anything _is not worth the tremendous effort that she is making to prolong the inevitable.

And if talking will not get the job done, I will just have to show her.

…

A line has formed in my mind; a connection, so to speak. I recall my first encounter with the woman, in which she initially stood up to us, to her fate. She was quite determined, until the orange-haired shinigami appeared. I found it strange that she was so willing to stand down, merely because he'd asked her to, when a second earlier she had been so desperate to protect her weak friends.

If this woman, whose power trespassed on the realm of gods, could be likened to the sun, then who was this shinigami, to be able to eclipse her so easily?

…

I find the trash downstairs, carrying a hollow child under his arm. Aaroniero has just died, relaying to us the information on his opponent: another shinigami by the name of Kuchiki Rukia. She has fallen as well. Pity. A part of me wonders how the woman will react, how her resolve will be shaken with this latest bit of news. Does she doubt the status of her other comrade now? If I were to go back and inform her of this, would she hit me again?

The trash has noticed the disappearance of the shinigami's spiritual pressure. He seems rather tense, which is certainly no way to fight. I take it upon myself to relax him by telling him that Kuchiki Rukia is dead. With the anticipation gone, he should be able to focus, right?

Ah, apparently not. These humans and their hearts…

He turns away from me and declares that he is going to save the dead woman. I politely remind him that she is dead. He doesn't believe me. This has become a common occurrence lately. Do I have the face of a liar?

The trash claims that he has no reason to fight me.

This 'heart' must be more troublesome and distracting than I imagined. Here the trash stands, having broken into our palace and disturbed our master's peace, for the sake of rescuing the woman in my possession, yet he turns his back on his mission to save someone who is beyond the point of saving? Had it been me, I would have gone ahead, regardless of what was transpiring in the background. I would not have turned around; _certainly _not for a corpse.

Being that his priorities are in the wrong order, I refresh his memory and announce that I was the one who brought the woman to Hueco Mundo. Ah, much better. He's attacked me.

"_So Inoue didn't come to Hueco Mundo of her own will after all!"_

This should have been obvious. Why hadn't I thought to bring the woman along? Would her faith have wavered, hearing the doubt spewing from the mouth of her savior?

…

It took longer than I thought it would. Unexpectedly, this trash had a few tricks up his sleeves; enough to tatter my uniform, and singe my palms a little, anyway. Nothing a quick regeneration and a change of clothes could not fix. Still, I had been hoping for a decent fight from someone who had been allowed time to become stronger. No need for Aizen-sama to get his hands dirty.

I left him prone on the floor with a gaping wound in his chest and told him to either leave or die.

If he was not here to save the woman, then he simply had no purpose for being here, unless I misunderstood his intentions. It mattered not in the end. He was defeated, and surely the woman would come to her senses now.

I will have to do something about this uniform before seeing her, though.

…

Another unexpected event has occurred.

The crevice in the wall, the missing door…

If the woman is injured, Aizen-sama will be very angry.

He left her in _my_ charge, after all.

Surely he wouldn't _want_ her to get hurt…

…

I do not know why I hurried. The woman is in surprisingly good health for having been abducted by a fool like Grimmjow. I was expecting her arm to be hanging off of its socket.

She is healing the trash.

….

I question Grimmjow as to why he is saving a fallen opponent. No response. It figures. He is the type to act without thinking. My gaze then turns to the woman. She is one of us after all, and as such, should have an answer for me.

She looks away.

And for some reason, though I could easily repeat my question to her, I do not.

My cheek continues to sting.

…

"Shit."

…

"_I wanted freedom."_

I would not care so much that I had been imprisoned, had this not barred me from doing my duty to Aizen-sama. The woman was out there, somewhere, exposed to danger. She was at the risk of being harmed by the other Espada, and I was _here_, wasting time, letting her get hurt – possibly killed.

Unacceptable.

…

An hour has passed since I have been thrown into the caja negación. Anything could have happened to the woman by now. I try not to think about it. Instead, I am busying myself by processing all that my eyes have seen as of late:

A woman with the power to reject reality, reduced to _nothing _in the presence of the people that she values.

This, too, is unacceptable.

…

Two hours.

Is it because of the 'heart' that she flounders?

…

The cage has weakened enough for me to hear Aizen-sama's voice, in time for me to catch his orders.

He has declared the woman useless. Her friends may retrieve her at any time. He gives them her location.

I focus on that place as well.

They will not take her. They have no right. Those who doubt her loyalty, who undermine her strength, who reduce her to trash like the rest of them… I will not allow them to remove her from Las Noches.

She will explain to me what it is about the 'heart' that makes her weak.

…

"_Our time is running out_."

It is not the 'heart' that makes her weak at all. Here she stands, telling me with the utmost certainty that she is not afraid of dying here, alone, out of everyone's reach. And I can see in her eyes that this is true.

All because her unreliable friends have come to save her?

Ridiculous.

She claims that their hearts all beat as one.

How?

How is this organ the creator of her hope, her faith, her strength? How does she draw power from a throbbing muscle? I should not believe it, but I see it. I _see _it. She is not afraid. Despite all of the odds, she is not afraid.

"What is this 'heart'?"

My hand settles below her throat, determining whether I can feel the warmth of whatever was making her this way, if it would somehow rub off on my fingers. I feel nothing otherworldly. She has to be talking about something else.

"If I tear open that chest of yours, will I see it there?"

She had misunderstood the true source of her fearlessness, just as she had mistaken me for someone who would show her compassion.

"If I smash open that skull of yours… will I see it there?"

Answer me, woman. I need to know.

…

The shinigami _trash _has arrived, and while the conviction behind the woman's words remains, her point somehow proven by the shinigami's entrance, _something has changed_. She is preoccupied by his presence. If I am going to get a straight answer from her, I must eliminate the distraction.

…

Why does this trash continue to try? What is his aim? I try to ask him, but he does not seem to have a straight answer.

If he is not here for the woman, then what is his purpose?

Even… even _I _am here for the woman, and she…

…

He says that I have become more human.

This time, it is _I_ who does not believe _him_.

And the woman stands there like a piece of furniture.

…

When my blade strikes the shield, I feel as though she has slapped me again. Why did she help him? Ah, I know what this is. Rebellion. Wholehearted and unabashed rebellion.

She is supposed to be one of us. Her body, her mind… but her 'heart' is not.

I have come to an understanding. Why I did not see it sooner when all the evidence had been stacked in front of me is a mystery, but suddenly it is so painstakingly clear: the 'heart' is not the source of the woman's weakness: Kurosaki Ichigo is.

I try to tell her this, but the trash interrupts me, thanks her for protecting him, and insults her by asking her to step back because it's dangerous.

And she wilts like a flower.

…

Does she 'love' him? Has she been hoping for him to come rescue her this entire time, like the knight in shining armor of harebrained human fairy tales? Is she convinced that he will not find her attractive if she cannot be an adornment to his masculine ego?

Is that why she is doing _nothing _to protect herself against the two pieces of trash who are currently hurting her?

Because if such a trifle is the reason for her faltering, then I will not allow her to be rescued. I will keep the shinigami away from her until she comes to her senses and puts those women in their place. I will –

…

He could have killed her.

I am starting to run out of patience.

…

We fight, though the fact that this battle is still going on irks me. The shinigami has seen me in my release form. He has been struck down more times than I cared to count. My point has been proven, and I would rather not continue this pointless brawl. So why will he not admit defeat?

He asks me why he should give up, just because I am stronger than him. He has answered his own question.

This is what happens to humans when they attempt to put meaning into a meaningless world. The whole of the struggle holds some sort of purpose to the shinigami. Even though he has obviously lost, he still feels like he has something to prove.

I let him fall to the ground, and then I reveal to him the form of true despair.

…

I do not understand the optimism of these humans. Even now, after seeing me like this, the trash continues to fight. Even though he can hardly stand, he refuses to call himself beaten. Perhaps the 'heart' is the cause of this, after all.

The 'heart' produces emotion, and emotion drives these pitiful creatures towards their demise. It makes them stupid. It makes them weak.

I grow tired of the trash and his pathetic reasoning. He has wasted my time. He has shown that he is unworthy of taking the woman home.

And now she is here.

Look, woman. Pay close attention. Are you watching?

If the 'heart' is the shinigami's problem, then it shall have to be removed.

If the shinigami is your problem, then he shall have to be removed.

…

Now is her chance to be strong; to embrace despair, to abandon all hope, to actualize her potential and come back to our side.

And still, she runs to him. Still, she screams his name.

She calls out to a corpse to save her, as if she cannot do it herself.

…

I have lost. Inconceivable, ridiculous… but true. If I cannot kill the shinigami, even when he is already dead, then it is impossible. If I cannot convince the woman that she belongs here, in a world where her strength is acknowledged, then I have lost my…

…purpose?

…

When had things begun to change?

Never in my existence had I been so desperate, so driven. Such a foreign feeling. What had these humans done to me?

Woman… what have you done to me?

…

Damn it. You said that you weren't afraid. Why, then, are you making such a face to your savior?

I suppose I shall have to summon up what power I have left and continue fighting.

…

She has my thoughts all turned around, and feelings that I cannot begin to describe reanimate what is left of my body. Somehow, I find within myself the energy for one last strike against the thing that has possessed the shinigami's corpse, and his mask breaks apart like shattering glass.

He falls, and I remain standing, victorious. She falls with him.

Her knees drop to the ground. Tears are shed. She screams his name, and I stand there, watching. The flesh of my cheek burns. I turn away from them, too tired to think of anything but the state of my own regeneration. Even after the trash somehow comes back to life, even after he stands and offers to be handicapped to make the rest of our match fair, I'm so tired. But I want to keep moving.

For her.

Something has been born in me; some strange desire to fight. Not for Aizen-sama, not for the sake of proving a point, but for her.

I've gone through all of this trouble. I've doubted, and hurried, and even lost my temper. I've lost limbs and otherwise been blown to smithereens.

For her.

She has rejected reality by giving me a purpose.

…

I must choose my words carefully, or I will fade even faster. At this rate, I can only spare a few. My body is dissolving far too quickly. What can I possibly say to the woman now, after I have caused her so much pain? How can I ask for her forgiveness?

I want to touch her. I want to feel the muscle that beats beneath her warm skin. My arm extends in her direction.

"Are you afraid of me, woman?"

The look on her face, the unshed tears in her eyes…

"_I'm not afraid._"

The conviction with which she speaks those words, her hand reaching out for my own…

"I see."

It's there… right there… between our fingertips… I see it now, woman. This is it. This here, in my hand… the heart…

It feels a lot like heaven.

**The End**

**A/N: **This is what happens when I _should _be writing an essay. Sigh. Anyway, I tried my best. Hopefully it is enjoyed. The only reason I posted it is because it took me so long to write. I did a lot of manga flipping, and found that Ulquiorra is unintentionally funny on the occasion. And now, back to my other fics!

**/PK1/**


End file.
